weLLSaiD's Poetry Corner

Allow me to introduce myself...

My penname is weLLSaiD, and I am an aspiring spoken word poet, writer and college student... at one point in time, writing was my life but as time has gone on, it's become more of a hobby than anything... I deal with a lot of different subjects: love, sex, pain, life, stress... my poetry stems from the things that I've had to deal with in my 24 years of life here on this planet... I'm a pretty easy going and jovial person but I still have so much pain in my heart and sometimes the only way to cope is to just put pen to pad and let it flow out... some times it comes out more as a rap song than as spoken word... LOL... in any event, I won't be posting nearly as much as my co-author Hard Work but every now and again, I'll throw something up here... this first piece is called "On the Subway" It stems from a poem by Sharon Olds also called "On the Subway" and deals with stereotypes and race relations... it's more or less a response to her and her poem... enjoy...



“ON THE SUBWAY”

When I was 24 years old, I read a poem
By Sharon Olds
About a young man she met on a subway
And it was on this day
I discovered that she was every woman
I’d run into in an elevator or late night parking lot
See… this is when doors lock and
Purses get grasped just a little closer
And feet hurry just to get to that Focus
A little bit faster
Like I couldn’t just rip off your fucking arm and take it with me
As I passed ya

You see this note pad and assume
I’m writing about
This whole 'slayin’-bitches-and-hoes' fad
Or my jewelry so bright it glow, bad
Ass nigga with a gun but no dad with mo’ swag
Than 20 young niggas with a low sag
Or maybe you think
I’m penning verses about
Putting other niggas in hearses
When in actuality I’m spittin’ about my sistas majoring in nursing

Yeah, I might’ve ran with them but
That’s just my mans and them

Yeah I know some niggas doing their thing like clock work
I don’t blame him because it’s rock work
That puts a hot meal on the stove
When a microwave’s only use is the clock works
Some days I feel like prison is my only destiny
You niggas arrestin me
For pumpin’ dope to them fiends
For monetary means
And then want me to start snitching
So you can put another brother
Next to me?
Fuck you, copper
I want change and I ain’t talkin’ about quarters, nickels
Or coins of copper
I want big bucks
So I can buy off the sick fucks who run the government
Tell ‘em their services are no longer needed

See, you look at me and act like there’s something wrong with my black face
Until you see Ivy League students on Halloween in black face
Then it’s amusing… but see, you’re confusing
Why should I take this?
That’s not funny, it’s fucking racist
But ain’t this common sense?
I mean, it must be common since
Nobody says anything but “kids will be kids"

Single mothers spending Sundays at Laundromats
There’s a reason why the term isn’t “condo” rats
It’s ‘cause they’re only here in the pro’s
And some say that life ain’t fair
You can tell because the police don’t really give a fuck
What goes on down here

Where the young bulls graze
You gaze
At us, while we raise
Our fists in this black maze
Where the police say we’re too aggressive to tase
They shoot first, do the paperwork, and then ask questions
And wonder why we spend days crying in the dark

Let me tell you what I think about on a daily basis
Imagine how my earth shattered
When I found my mother battered
Because she said this man’s affection
Didn’t matter
To her anymore
I had to play like I didn’t see the dark smudge forming
Underneath her eyelid
She played it off like it was something else
I wouldn’t understand, but I did
Worrying about if my sisters pay tuition
By being dancers
Or if my mother’s cancer
Will make a return trip to her mammary glands
And then people wonder why I bury my hands
In the pockets of my jeans so often
It’s because my nerves are so bad, they shake
When they’re idle
People hear the theme to “Good Times”
And still don’t understand the irony of the title
Your biggest worry is whether your favorite contestant
Made it on American Idol
While my biggest worry is if I’m going to hell
For being too scared to study my Bible
I guess I’m feeling like Jesus might be unforgivable when
The things that keep me sane in this life
Are unforgivable sins

You want me to forget that
I’m at a university that didn’t accept blacks
Until my grandmother was nineteen years old

I get wack looks from crack cooks
In my face with a gat shook
Tryin’ to get more females in my black book…
You sittin’ here complaining about the iTunes in your fucking Macbook
When I’m waiting on a refund check to buy my sisters
Sneakers that don’t give them blisters
I’m not thinner because my mother never ate dinner
By the time she got home she was too tired to eat
So I ate twice as much so it wouldn’t go to waste
So it went to my waist
This waist right here you assume holds a gun

I gotta figure out if I’m wrong for spending
Forty dollars on a tee
When my ancestors picked the
Goddamn cotton for free

See you look at me and assume I struggle with illiteracy
When I’m just trying to bless the world with my ill literacy
You think I wanna snatch your fucking Prada purse
I gotta worry about my past and if how it’s
Gonna affect my future and
You think I’m worried about your
Stinkin’ ass…
On the subway?